The apartment seemed much the same. Nina’s toys were scattered around, books and magazines piled on every surface. Rei had, perhaps inevitably, spread out slightly while I’d been away. A pair of her shoes were discarded under the sofa. Several folders of legal documents were wedged on the kitchen counter between the toaster and the fruit bowl. As ever, the windows were filthy. The landlord never responded to our requests to have them cleaned, and we hadn’t got round to organizing it ourselves. The late summer light filtered in, a dirty yellow, outlining a trapezoid on the dusty Afghan rug. Nina was using this shape as a sort of abstract table as she hosted a tea party for her dolls, slicing imaginary cake and telling off her guests for snatching before it was their turn. She paid no attention to me, which was good, since I was finding her little game almost unbearably moving.